


Changes

by mercscilla



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercscilla/pseuds/mercscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke plans to leave the camp to stock up her medical supplies but someone has a few things to say about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in the near future - according to the new episode summaries, I'd say around episode #5 or #6. Spoilers for all aired episodes. I had to get this out of my system before the new episode tonight... \o/

She's in the ship, going through of their meager medical supplies and making a list of what she needs to go looking for tomorrow, when she hears Finn coming up the ladder.

“We're almost out of seaweed powder,” Clarke says without looking up. “And it would be better to stock up our supply of those elderberries too.”

There's no answer and she raises her head to ask what's wrong, but the words die in her throat, because it's not Finn, it's Bellamy, leaning against the ladder with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with the same strange intensity flickering behind his eyes that's been present whenever she found him looking at her in the last few days.

It's not just the way he looks at her that has changed but the way he treats her, too. She can't say when it started, when his taunting turned into genuine respect, maybe after Atom's death, maybe during their rescue of Octavia, but what she knows is that something has shifted between them, the clear line that divided them in the beginning has become blurred and now they're no longer on opposite sides but caught somewhere in-between.

This new tension unsettles her, sometimes even more than the constant dangers around them. Those she knows to fight, but what's happening in her heart and mind is a different matter altogether. She tries not to show her unease, always meets his gaze and holds it for a moment before casually turning away as if the look in his eyes isn't sending shivers down her spine.

Like now.

Bellamy's still staring at her, and Clarke ignores the feel of her pulse racing in her throat. Instead, she raises an eyebrow at him quizzically before returning her attention to the jars in front of her.

“Can I help you with something?” She asks, pleased when the words come out steady and unaffected.

“I'm going with you tomorrow.”

“What?” Whatever she's expected to hear, it's certainly not this, and she glances up at him, surprise written all over her face. “Why?”

“I don't like the idea of you being out there, not after what happened to Octavia,” he says, and Clarke opens her mouth to protest but Bellamy is faster, moves away from the ladder and kneels down in front of her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist.

“Listen. To leave the camp now is a stupid idea, and if it were anyone else, I'd tell them to try their luck on their own,” he says quietly, “but it's _you_ , and I know, you wouldn't go if it wasn't absolutely necessary.” He leans in, his breath stirring her hair, and her own catches somewhere in her throat at the heat in his dark eyes. “But if you go, I'll go too. There's no way I'm going to let you go alone.”

His words silence her for a moment. Like pieces of a puzzle, everything begins to slide into place, and a tight feeling starts to grow in her chest. But Clarke has learned not to let her heart rule her mind, and she pulls on that now.

“You do know that Finn is coming with me?” She asks, her breathing even, despite the tightness of her throat. Something flashes in Bellamy's eyes, something intense, but it's gone as quickly, and his lips stretch into a smirk.

“Spacewalker is good at tracking and not getting lost, but when it comes to protecting you, I trust only myself.” His grip tightens, his fingers pressing against her skin warm and promising, and any ground she's regained is lost again at the feel of his thumb brushing along her wrist. He doesn't take his eyes off her and she can't look away.

There's crash on the lower deck, followed by muffled cursing, and that breaks the spell they're under. He lets go of her and walks back towards the ladder, and she fiddles with the jars and bottles to hide the trembling of her hands, fighting the urge to rub her fingers across the skin where she still feels the ghostly imprint of his touch.

She doesn't dare watching him leave. This new awareness of Bellamy sets her heart racing and quickens her breathing, and she needs time to pull herself together, but he thwarts her plan by stopping abruptly and turning around.

“Here,” he says, and despite herself, she looks up. He pulls something from his pocket and she instinctively catches it as he tosses her it. It's a small package, something solid wrapped in a piece of cloth, and she blinks at him, confused.

“Open it,” he tells her, gesturing at the package, and she slowly peels back the cloth.

Her eyes go wide at the sight that greets her and her eyes snap up to his. “What-?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Heard you and Octavia talking. You said, with a smaller knife it would be easier to cut your plants and flowers.”

“Herbs,” she corrects him automatically, and he rolls his eyes good-naturally.

“Whatever. Point is, now you have one.”

The blade is sharp, perfectly curved, and it occurs to her then. “You made it, didn't you?”

He shrugs again. “Yeah, No big deal.”

“Thank you. It's perfect.” Clarke gives him a bright smile, and in the dim light it's hard to tell but she thinks, he's blushing slightly.

“You're welcome.” Bellamy flashes her a grin and starts climbing down the ladder. “See you tomorrow, _princess_.”

The way he says her nickname is new too. In the past there's always been a mocking undertone, full of scorn and disdain. Now it's teasing affection, and she ducks her head and pretends to study her new knife, if only to cover the small smile that she can't help but let escape.

Tomorrow will be interesting, in more ways than one.

\- END -


End file.
